:: Diary - April 2017 ::

:: Saturday, April 1, 2017 ::

I’ve spent a bit of time, on and off, just tidying up the TVR a bit, since I washed it last Saturday. Mostly, this involved polishing wheels - not on the basis of a week per wheel, but all four yesterday - maybe about an hour each.

I also cleaned up the rear screen, which washing a bit opaque. I have a kit of plastic screen cleaner, but I can;’t find it in the midden I use as a garage - so I clean it with Meguiars rubbing compound, and it comes up just fine.

What else? Oh yes, I also cleaned up the engine bay a bit, and while I was doing that, I noticed that the front tyres are worn away on the inside edges - that goes back to when I changed the steering rack a while ago, and then went on one of our 500-mile tours before I adjusted the alignment. It didn’t half chew the tyre - well I fixed that (I think) but now general wear has worn down what was left - so I ordered 2 new tyres on Wednesday and had them fitted yesterday - Dunlop Sport Bluresponse, because you can’t get the original Bridgestones any more.

What else? I also cleaned up the interior - it wasn’t too manky, just dusty.

So that’s it ready for the TVR Car Club meeting tomorrow!

In other news, I’ve been working away on the pedal car - I dinged out another couple of little dents and re-primed those bits.

Yesterday, I started on the inside - just a bit of a rub down and then a coat of brush-on rusty converter. Once that had dried, I sprayed on a couple of coats of the high-build yellow primer.

It’s looking not too bad. Ok it’s not straight and pristine, but that needs a lot more skill than I have!

:: Sunday, April 2, 2017 ::

It’s TVR Car Club day. It’s not raining! I’m meeting up with Jim and Dave for the run through - this is the first time I have driven the car since August, but more important, this will be the first time our three TVR S Series cars will have been together since our weekend up north in June 2015! (No I didn’t believe it either, but a scan though these pages shows that it’s tar-oo!)

We have our usual banter before we are ready to set off, and after we’ve lowered knee-less Dave into his car, we’re ready to set off again.

It happens every time. Like a long-lost lover, we’ve only done a few miles before I am marvelling all over again at how good this little car is. It sounds fantastic. It steers like a go-kart. As I drive along, I start to wonder again if I should keep the Porsche - it’s a very good car, no doubt about about that, but it’s not like this.

We eventually arrive at the venue after the usual 40 mph procession in national speed limit areas, and the inevitable queue at road works. Life wouldn’t be the same without dawdlers and councils on Sunday overtime, would it?

There’s a fair number of TVRs that I haven’t seen often - funny how the good weather brings them out eh?

We spend a fair bit of time at lunch talking about dishwashers, for some reason, but soon get back to the usual pish, including our plans for our trip down south for the national car club’s season opener at Burghley, when Hugh announces that he’s not going. Some lame excuse about his car being in a million bits all over his garage with only a week to go. That has never deterred Adrian in the past!

Then it’s back out in the sun for some more general chit-chat, before we head back home, with Jim narrowly avoiding getting wiped out by one of those extremely annoying twats (who seem to be getting increasingly more common) who come tearing past you on the right, and then, in a full-on brake and steer manoeuvre, pitch themselves across your front bumper about 30 seconds after anything that could be described as “last-minute” to shoot off a slip road on the left. Arseholes, every one of them.

Anyway, I make it home after I leave the other two, following a horse box that would move quicker if they took the horse out of the back and let it pull the fucking thing.

Before I put the car away, I hang up the pedal car in the centre of the garage, and empty a whole can of grey primer over it, inside and out.

Bits of the inside are a bit splattery because the spray head on the can took a while to work properly…

Once the primer has dried a bit, I move it out of the way and hang it over a different beam, and put the TVR away.

:: Wednesday, April 5, 2017 ::

3 days to go until our excursion to Burghley. Today, we’re going to change the oil.

Nothing much to it really - jack the car top, stick a couple of axle stands under, then a drain tray. Undo the drain plug and let it empty.

While it’s doing that, I unscrew the old filter and put the new one on, after smearing a little bit of oil around the seal.

Drain plug back in and tightened, remove oil cap, stick in a funnel, pour in some oil. Check level on dipstick. Done.

I also remove the fan belt - there’s nothing wrong with it, just that it “chirps” when the car is idling. I take it off and spray it with “belt slip” spray and leave it to dry. Refitting it is a pain in the arse because it only just goes over the pulleys, and when it’s tacky, it’s even harder! Getting the belt tensioned right is also a pain, but I manage it.

Sorted!

There are a million other things that I should check before a 600-mile weekend, but if I do, it’ll be the million-and-first thing that will go wrong. And that will more likely be a bastard to fix. So apart from a few basic checks, it’s going as it is!

:: Thursday, April 6, 2017 ::

Road Tax!

Nothing says “dopey old git” like forgetting to pay your road tax. If only they had some way to remind you - like a sticker on the windscreen or something clever…

So with that sorted out, I check a few basics like water level, tyre pressures and… em well that’s about it really.

We’re ready to go!

:: Saturday, April 8, 2017 ::

It’s time for a Burghley!

Slight difficulty. I have been “unwell” overnight, and I am not sure if my “unwellness” has quite finished emptying itself out. The prospect of a 300-and-odd mile journey in a jiggly car, supplemented by what is normally a not inconsiderable food intake, fills me with trepidation. Should I go, or should I no? Tough call…

So I extract the car from the garage and head off to meet Dave for 9am, with a stop for fuel along the way. Dave's already there (turns out he got there early so he had time for a Maccy's D breakfast to keep the edge off his starvation until we all stop).

Then Jim turns up, and while he's manoeuvring into his space, a taxi driver behind him gets a bit impatient and starts shouting that he's an arsehole, oblivious of the fact that (a) he's deaf so can't hear her anyway, and (b) we can both lipread through the windscreen and find this awfully amusing.

Another guy we know turns up with a Tuscan, but it turns out he's going somewhere else and just saw us parked up.

So at last, we're off! Dave leads us along the M8 and around the city bypass, where we manage to keep some semblance of formation despite the best efforts of everybody else to just get in the way (and no, we're not trying to charge through traffic, we're old and sensible. Oh yes.)

Along the A1, we are passed by a big silver van pulling a trailer. And we're not hanging about. We pass it at the next roundabout, then he passes again about 2 miles later when he has wound up enough speed.

And again.

He does eventually disappear one we get on a straighter bit, then turns of.

We stop for breakfast somewhere around Morpeth - just a bacon roll though, because we're saving ourselves for the American Diner further down the road.

We set off again behind Jim, through Newcastle and Sunderland and on southwards. Somewhere in this bit, we are all moving out from lane 1 to lane 2, with Dave behind, letting me out. A van comes around Dave in lane 3, straight into lane 2 and nearly into the side of me - I have to take avoiding action almost on to the hard shoulder. Van man continues across the front of me into lane 1 then down a slip road. I may have mentioned before that I have noticed an increase in this "slip road at the very last minute" pish, it's getting worse and is more of a threat to safety than excessive speed on its own.

Anyway, on we go, looking for this American Diner. About 150 miles later, Jim turns into one, but it's not the right one, so we leave again. Then we turn into another one. Nope. Leave again.

On we go, with speeds decreasing as Jim tries to preserve fuel, he's desperate to stop for a fuel "splash and dash" to our destination. I'm more desperate for a "dash and splash".

They pull into a petrol station. I carry on 1/2 a mile to "services" where I hope for a fuller range of facilities for the waterlogged traveller.

We all catch up, eventually, and the girl in WH Smith says that the American diner is 10 miles down the road, so on we go.

Still can't find it. By this time, we’re only 25 miles from the hotel and it's after 4 o'clock, so we give up and head for check-in.

Who is this Rab C Nesbitt-esque figure sitting on a bench in front of the hotel? It's Cami, one of our Scottish members.

We park up, lock up, have a bit of a chat with others who are doing likewise, then we finally get a break!

So it’s dinner time. And here’s us with no lunch or afternoon tea or second afternoon tea, so we’re all absolutely starving, obviously. Wasting away. At least my poor belly has had time to recover.

Dinner is the usual mix of food, banter, piss-taking and other more serious topics that we won’t go into here. We are looked after by the lovely Abbie who appears to have underestimated her uniform size - either that or she has “blossomed” significantly since she got it. All very pleasant.

:: Sunday, April 9, 2017 ::

Up bright and early for a pre-breakfast chat, then it’s in for the two-course breakfast (three if you count the croissant after I’ve eaten everything else).

We give the cars a quick clean (mainly just wiping overnight dew off, although I also polish up the rear panels of my car, which are discoloured by exhaust fumes.

Dave leaves early because he’s on the “timeline” but Jim and I faff around for another half an hour or so before we leave - I realise that we’re almost the last to leave the hotel car park. I have the sat nav set for Burghley, but I manage to put in the wrong “unlock” code so it says :return to secure location to reset”. The “secure location” is 300 miles from here, so that’s no use. I find a way to reset it, and we’re off!

We are joined along the way by another 2 cars that hang on the back, obviously thinking that I know where I am going. I’m not at all confident that I’ve put the right destination in though! We follow scores of cyclists, mostly through 20mph limits, along roads roads that I really do not remember from last year. Confidence is decreasing…

The sat nav announces “you have arrived at your destination” but I can see sod all. Around the next bend, there’s a TVR waiting to turn right into the access to the venue! That was lucky!

So here we are - we park up and attend to Jim’s most urgent need - a hat, and then coffee! I’ve already got my hat!

Then we have a bit of a wander around to look at the cars. Some are on special displays by traders, such as a Chimaera chassis, and a Tuscan race car. There’s also a Speed 12, a very nice Griffith for sale, and stalls selling various bits and pieces. Then it’s time to wander around the “car park display” - and some of the cars are better then the displays. There’s a very nice old V6 Tuscan, an ancient Vixen, a purple Cerbera (the other one, not mine), the 3000S with the Alfa engine in it, a couple of nice 3000Ms and Taimars, plus lots of more modern stuff.

Then it’s time to go up to the timeline and see Dave. But first, a small wager. How long will it take Dave, from when we start to speak to him, until he starts to moan about something? Jim says 30 seconds. I say less. This is going to be easy. A few rules” time only starts from when he is talking to us, not if he’s talking to somebody else. OK. That’s the end of the rules.

Dave is speaking to a man who owns 9 TVR wedges, so we move along a bit, to speak to a guy who has a very nice V8S which he has spent a lot of time and money on. The latest mod is getting the wheels powder coated in a colour to match the car - a dark metallic gray. Personally, I prefer the wheels in their original polished alloy finish, but it’s his car.

Eventually, Dave wanders over, and after a bit of chat with a couple of others, the three of us wander off to look for something to eat. I secretly press the stopwatch button on my watch. Dave launches into a moan about something that happened earlier, and I press the stopwatch button again. 7.5 seconds. Easy win.

There’s a range of stalls for lunch, and I select a steak burger, which is very nice. As we are eating that, we see a lad setting up an ice cream trike, so we stop off there for a wee sample., which we polish off while wandering through the cars again.

It’s now High Noon (1.00pm British Summer Time) so despite the hats, Jim and I decide to have a wee rest in the shade of our cars. It’s all very peaceful, warm sun, distant birds, occasional chat drifting past us as people go by… lovely.

I wander to the front of the car to speak to some lad who asks me about the car, and when I get back, there’s a Kate speaking to Jim, who is obviously relieved that I have come back. I soon find out why. She’s lovely, obviously very clever and knowledgable, but she asks questions like a gatling gun - “what’s that car”, “What do they call that colour”, “That sounds nice, what engine’s in that” “did you know that Unipart are out of Business”, “what’s that car”, “What do they call that colour”, “is that car the same as that one”, “who was General Wade anyway”, “will my 15-year-old fit in the back of a Cerbera”, etc etc. It’s like a KGB interrogator with ADHD. She tells us stories about scraping the side off a BMW against a bit of armco near Tyndrum, she’s into canoes and kayaks (I know, “is that a canoe in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me”), and has a Seat Leon with a fucked front wheel bearing. Even a shy retiring type like me finds that there are no awkward pauses in the conversation. It’s all quite pleasant and relaxing, really.

She sits with us for 2 hours while Jim kids on that he’s sleeping, except when she gets down to look at the minimal ground clearance under a TVR - he regains some interest then, for some reason.

She wanders off to speak to a man with something bigger and more powerful between his legs - an emergency responder on a motorbike. Oh well.

Just as I’m recovering from her departure, a guy wanders over and starts to talk about TVRs, then about getting his benefits cut, then sanctions. Then his failing health, and back to benefits again. I come to the conclusion that benefits are like sex - you get something once in a while, but not enough to live on.

Eventually I escape and we go up to the front of the house for a “team photo”.

Then it’s back to the hotel for dinner. Along the way, we are passed by one of those huge American limousines, which turns up at the hotel. There’s an Indian wedding on tonight, so they are all dressed in amazing traditional costumes. The couple arrive just before our dinner so there’s much throwing of petals and drumming of drums, it’s good.

Again, I can’t remember much about the dinner. We all decide to have something different, and to complement that, Abbie has been replaced by Magenta. Although we talk about the usual range of news and world affairs, much of our conversation centres around telling Dave about the delectable Kate, because he didn’t get to meet her.

I’m a bit concerned that my room is right above the hotel’s front door canopy, so I’m going to have noisy wedding guests outside until the wee sma’ hours. But no, it all dies down by about 11pm - no drunken fights, no family arguments, no projectile nourishment of any plant pots, nothing. You call that a wedding?

:: Sunday, April 9, 2017 ::

It’s still dry! So it’s time to pack, gat the stuff in the car, and meet up for breakfast. Another feast, this time being careful to avoid the vegetarian sausages, which were mingin’. Despite the hat and application of cream, I’m still sunburnt - mainly neck.

We’re on the road by about 9am. I have a meeting in Edinburgh at 6. And we’re wearing sunglasses. Hit it!

We stop for fuel at the same petrol station as last year, where I berate Jim loudly for being an arse and not pulling forward far enough. Dave appears oblivious to this.

Then we’re on the road, and I’ve ended up leading - fair enough since I only led around 10 miles yesterday. We drive for a couple of hours with no incidents, then I decide to stop for lunch in “services”. If there was a trades description act for road signs, then this would be a prime case for a challenge. The car park layout is absolutely pish, with lots of little aisles, blocked by people queueing to get out. We manage to find 3 spaces, then it’s on to the food.

There’s a choice of Costa, or McDonalds. Both have queues - well more of a waiting mob - so we plump for McD’s. It’s chaos. You can’t get near the counter for kids and zombies coming back for straws, sauces, napkins, another straw, a different sauce, then complaining that their dinner’s cold because they’ve spent 15 minutes faffing around before they sit down.

Anyway, with the food eaten in about quarter of the time it took to get it, we’re ready to go again, after a wee fuel top-up.

We queue to get out of the car park, then into the petrol station. The queue goes right round the back of the petrol station, so people are shortcutting past us to get further up the queue. We fill up, we pay, and I think we still join the queue further up than we would have been if we hadn’t stopped for fuel. More queuing and we eventually get out.

I cruise for miles at 50 mph up the motorway waiting for the other 2 to catch up, then it’s back to making progress.

After another couple of hours, we catch up to a stationary queue, 3 lanes wide. We shuffle forward for ages, then it kind of settles to a 50mph wave. Eventually, we see that the problem is an escorted convoy of 3 huge cylindrical tanks that take up 2 lanes, so everybody has to merge into one lane. Just before we get past, we come into roadworks where the motorway is narrowed to 2 lanes, and these things take up both of them. At least the limit is 50mph anyway.

These roadworks go on for 13 miles. 13 miles of looking at the back of an escort vehicle, before they turn off at Darlington.

Onwards! Through Newcastle, up past Berwick, then we stop at Dunbar for a wee cake. Nice big car park, nice cosy garden centre, nice cakes, no screaming kids! Other end of the spectrum from the McDonalds experience earlier.

We also have to wait until Dave buys food for his gold fish. We didn’t know he had a goldfish, but apparently it’s huge, in a big tank, in the back room. Apparently goldfish grow to fit their surroundings. Good job Dave lives in a wee house - god knows what size he would be if he lived in anything bigger!

Then it’s on into Edinburgh, where it takes almost as long to do the 5 miles from the edge to the centre, as it took to drive the previous 40 miles from Dunbar. I am still almost an hour early, so I park up and have a wee walk. Then at 5 to 6 I realise that the meeting isn’t here, it’s on the other side of the city centre… Only takes 10 minutes though because the TVR fits up wee lanes that the RangeRover doesn’t.

Another fantastic weekend, never the same as last year, always different, but always great fun.